The Martian
by RealityPilot
Summary: After dying in a shooting, I am accosted by a transdimensional doppelganger of mine who offers me another chance at life in the MEU... for a price. This version of myself isn't keen on doing anything unless he gets something in return. A deal is made. I am reborn, but I am not myself. I have a new name, a new face, and a much looser set of morals than I once had.
1. Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces

**The Martian**

 **Chapter 1: Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces**

It's kind of funny. As I lay here, bleeding out on the cold tile floor, too weak to move… all I feel is…

All I feel is…

 _…Apologetic._

Dad, I am so sorry. I know now I had it in me to be the person you and W. saw in me. I hope when they find me, and bring me to you, that you'll see that I tried to do right by you. I really did.

I did it.

I know this is… probably not what you had in mind for me. You know I had my aspirations and… ambition. Maybe if I had more time I would have been able to help more people than I did today. But it was you two that taught me that every life counts. Every single one. I couldn't just stand by, cower in fear, and do nothing.

Not when I knew I could do something.

* * *

 _The man emerged, submachine gun held tightly in his hands. Before the first shot was even fired, pandemonium had already broken out. The man cut down the two students in front of him who had frozen in momentary shock with an unrestrained salvo that reduced them to nothing more than husks full of holes._

 _My lab partner, Shri, and I ducked behind our lab bench. He looked to me, his dark brown eyes wide and alight with panic. "What are we gonna do, Steve?" he asked._

 _He must not have been able to recognize the raw fear that had overtaken me since there was no possible way in Hell that I was any less afraid than he was. It was only a matter of time till the man came around the corner, spotted the rest of us, and dealt with us the same as he did the others. I open my mouth to tell him that I have no idea, but that's not what came out. "Get the others and move to the back. Over by the fume hood."_

 _"But what about—"_

 _"Go."_

 _I've never thought of myself as a particularly compelling individual, so I'd be damned if I wasn't surprised as Shri set out to do exactly what I had said, safely corralling everyone into the narrow space between the lab aisle and the fume hood. I was the only person in any immediate danger now. Good._

 _I reached up over the lab counter and grabbed a 250mL beaker I'd filled with an excess of about 100mL of 12.07 Molar Sodium Hydroxide. Peering into the clear and lethal liquid, I recalled something my General Chemistry II professor had said during a class._

* * *

 _ **'You guys ever watch**_ **Breaking Bad** ** _? How many of you guys have watched_** **Breaking Bad?'**

 ** _A bunch of hands raised up all over the lecture hall as Dr. C. continued._**

 _ **'That's good. Then I suppose you all remember when Walt had Jessie dissolve Emilio and his cousin Krazy-8 in a hydrofluoric acid solution. Can anyone tell me what makes hydrofluoric acid such an effective agent for… eh, organic disposal?'**_

 ** _Less hands than before raised up, mainly toward the front where the more confident and self-assured generally sat. Dr. C. picked on one of them at random._**

 _ **'Is it because hydrofluoric acid is a strong acid?' the student asked. Some of the other hands furiously slammed into their desks, having been denied the chance to answer.**_

 ** _'No. Hydrofluoric acid is actually a weak acid. Especially compared to something like hydrochloric, the strong acid we will use in our strong acid titration lab.'_**

 ** _No other hands raised in light of his response, so Dr. C. took it upon himself to provide the answer._**

 ** _'What makes hydrofluoric acid so effective in the matter is how it reacts with human skin. Since it is a lipid soluble molecule, it penetrates skin tissue fairly easily and then begins to react with tissue and bone to produce calcium carbonate. How a chemical reacts with the human body, or some metals, or other chemicals is generally how we evaluate the corrosivity of a substance._**

 ** _'When I watched this show, I was still rather disappointed when Walt chose to use hydrofluoric of all the corrosive chemicals he had at his disposal. You want to know why? This gentleman over in the front was somewhat right. A strong protic or aprotic chemical generally makes for a particularly effective dissolution agent. That's why if I had been in Walt's position, with the need to dispose of a human body (or two), I probably would have gone with Sodium Hydroxide. This is because it's a very strong base that when in contact with human skin causes pretty instantaneous liquefaction necrosis and saponifies—that is, turns to lipids and oils—cell membranes as it dissolves tissue proteins…'_**

* * *

 _…Brilliant._

 _I crawled over to the next lab bench and quickly swiped another beaker filled with Sodium Hydroxide and carefully added its contents to my own. Shots tore through the air overhead and impacted the wall with dull thumps. I held back an involuntary scream as I backed myself up against the counter and took a slow, deep breath._

Oh shit, this… this is actually happening. _I look at the wall. The bullets had punched right through the drywall—some two feet of it or so—making it look like a moldy block cut of Swiss cheese._ Were there people on the other side? Are any of them hurt? No, they're… they're the lucky ones. If they hadn't heard the shots already, they knew to get the Hell out now. Good.

 _I slid in my cover over to the end of the counter and took a cursory glance around the side. The man… I could've sworn I've seen him before. He wasn't that old. He looked to be around his mid-twenties with a faced lined with dense stubble and tired, sunken eyes._

 _They were looking my way._

Fuck! Did he see me? If he saw me, there's no way this is going to—

 _A steel-toed work boot appeared next to me. I didn't bother looking up. It could've only been his. This… This was the moment._

 _It was time._

 _I pushed with every bit of muscle I had left from years of long distance cycling, putting myself on my feet in an instant. The man's eyes opened wide as if shocked. So, he hadn't seen me, but he has now and his gun is pointed right at me. I let loose the scream I had been holding: all of the fear I felt, the anger I held toward this asshole for having the sheer tenacity to fucking come to_ my _school and start shooting students, taking from them the futures they have been striving for their entire lives…_

 _…This fucker's done._

 _I grabbed the barrel of his gun and shoved it to the side, inadvertently causing him to jerk the trigger. There was this sudden, sharp pain in my side, followed by a splintery peppering from the shredding of the wooden cabinetry, but there was no stopping me._

 _Not when I let go of the gun to knock his other arm out of my way. Not when I reached up with my other and splashed the lethal contents of the beaker right into his eyes. I smiled. He never stood a chance._

 _It was his turn to scream, and scream he did. It was the sound of pure agony and despair. At the same time, his scream was a question. It seemed to ask, 'Why?', as if he had no comprehension of what he had done to deserve this. His free hand clawed at my shoulder as he started to fall back._

 _I don't know why I didn't immediately brush him off me. Maybe it was my horror as I watched as his eyes dissolved and the skin on his face deliquesce. Maybe it was my disgust at the feeling of satisfaction I had been feeling in light of what I had done. I don't know. Whatever it was, I did nothing to stop him from unloading the rest of his clip into me from point blank range._

 _It wasn't like the movies. I didn't stand there for a moment in apparent shock at what had happened, look down at myself, and then conveniently start bleeding all over. It was impossible to deny the force that pushed me back and knocked me to the ground. There wasn't enough room in my mind for the shock after that. There was only enough room for two things: the pain and the… sorrow?_

It's kind of funny, isn't it? As I lay here, dying, all I can think about are my family. My friends. How much I wish I could apologize to them all for never living up to the potential they saw in me until I died. Isn't that sad? All this time, the only person holding me back was me.

 _Ain't that just life?_

* * *

 **A/N: Academ here. I just wanted to clarify some things about this story. If I bring up any specific thing about my life at any point (other than my death), it really did happen. The people/characters (other than the shooter) up to this point are entirely real. Names of people who did not want their actual name to be used in this story have been abbreviated or replaced with pseudonyms. In many ways, this story is very personal and important to me.**

 **The basis of this story is what I would do if I had always been a part of the Mass Effect Universe and possessed the foreknowledge to shape events in a way that might have actually spared the galaxy in that universe the mass extinction that was barely averted.**

 **Not too original, I know. But I assure you, there isn't a story out there like this one. I've checked.**

 **I am a biomedical engineer, which means I dabble in every branch of engineering other than computer engineering. I tend to focus on neuroprosthetics and micro/nano technobioemulation.**

 **I do not have an eidetic memory. I do, however, have a very good recall for abstract little facts I pick up on a day-to-day basis. This chapter will probably be the only one with a flashback pertaining to my actual life.**

 **I am also an atheist. The only things I believe in are what I can personally prove beyond a reasonable doubt. Please do not harass me for this conviction.**

 **A critical facet of this story is its scientific accuracy. Much like Andy Weir's original novel, I will make as much of the technological/scientific aspects of this story as accurate as possible. I promise only to speculate using concepts already postulated by experts in particular field or by an accomplished science fiction writer when a proven scientific explanation is not within my comprehension.**

 **If you should so desire, I will include my sources at the end of each chapter. In the meantime, I ask that you private message me to request information like this.**

 **Every chapter in this story will be named after or BASED ON a musical album. I've decided that since this story will rely heavily on OC's (at least in the beginning), I'd hold a kind of contest. The first person to tell me the name of the band that produced album from the chapter name will receive the privilege of providing the name (last, first), gender, and race (most will be human, but I'll notify you if there's room for some other species) for an OC. I may even allow you to give me a base psychological profile for some of these characters. But please note, the answer will not always be as straightforward as the title to this chapter.**

 **I reserve the right to reject certain character names if they are totally ridiculous in the frame of this story.**

 **That having been said, I have room for 13 characters for the third chapter. All but three are human and aged 12-14. Two others are human adults, gender of your choice. The last is a Salarian way past his prime.**

 **Since there is still a chapter between this one and the third, only one of the human adults and half of the adolescent OCs are available for your input this chapter.**

 **First come, first serve for each of these.**

 **Results for each character will be exported to all who have favorited or followed the story. Submissions made by people who have not done this will receive no confirmation until the next chapter, so long as they gave their answers quick enough.**

 **Selection Process:**

 **1.** **The first (insert number of available Characters here) people to PM me the correct answer will be notified.**

 **2.** **I will contact each person (starting with the first, working my way down the list) and prompt them to provide me with their character. I will notify each person of their position (first, second, third, etc.) and the available character choices at this time as well. If I reject a character name (this will only happen if the name is really freaking ridiculous by the universal definition of ridiculousness), I expect you to propose another name within three days of rejection. That's the only second chance I am willing to provide. If you fail to provide a viable character name within these two instances, your position will be forfeit.**

 **3.** **I will export the results to all who have followed or favorited the story. Formal credit for contributions will only be provided if a contributor gives me their expressed permission to do so.**

 **Caveats:**

 **1.** **Name submissions must be given using English characters**

 **2.** **If within a week not all of the characters have been taken, I will assign names and define the personality of the un-chosen characters.**

 **Any CONSTRUCTIVE criticism you may have for me is welcome. Private message or review to leave it.**

 **My other stories: Mass Effect: The Other and Ultimate Spider-Man Vol. 3; are still in production, though I'm more focused on The Other than Ultimate Spider-Man at the moment, and this story over both of those.**

 **The rating of this story is M. Expect blood, violence, and the whole fucking "curse"-word alphabet because I don't give a shit about that kind of stuff. I really don't. It actually bothers me that people frown upon the mere use of a word in the English language (or any language for that matter). If they are words, they are there for a reason as a means to express a certain thing I am feeling. If I am pissed off, expletives roll off my tongue like bullets from the Vulcan canon of an A-10 Thunderbolt. Really fucking loud and as fucking devastating as possible.**

 **Academ out.**


	2. When This Portrayal of Life Ends

**Chapter 2: The Pursuit Begins When This Portrayal of Life Ends**

 **"** So… there are these three guys and they're abducted by cannibals. Fearing for their lives, these men make every desperate plea they can as the cannibals drag them back to their wicked creep.

"Eventually, the head cannibal grew tired of their incessant prattling, and decided to offer them a reprieve, provided they did something for him.

"'Each of you will venture out into the forest, collect ten pieces of fruit, and return here. They may be any kind of fruit you so choose, and they need not all be the same.'

"Eager to make the best of their last shot at life, the three men sped off into the forest.

"The first man returned after a couple hours carrying middle-sized fruit in his arms: some apples, pears, peaches, and a plum. The haul seemed to amuse the head cannibal.

"'You will now shove all of the fruit you have brought here up your ass without showing any signs of emotion.' The monster of a man didn't clarify what would happen should the man fail in his task. It was already clear. Disturbingly so.

"Even though he was so dismayed by the utter grotesqueness of the task, the man still managed to cram three pieces of fruit in his ass before his façade cracked, and he cried out in pain.

"Sure enough, the cannibals descend upon the man like a rabid pack of dogs. They tore him limb for limb and sated themselves on his meat, picking him bone dry. They didn't bother concealing the remains for when the second man returned with his pockets full of blue and black berries.

"When the head cannibal relayed the same instructions to the second man that had given to the first, the second man seemed confident. Or rather a whole lot less convinced than the first guy that he was about to die. And it showed. The man managed to stuff nine of the berries up his ass just fine, but as he was about the stick the tenth one up there he started laughing.

"So they ate him.

"So, then the second guy meets the first guy up in heaven, and the first guy says, 'Dude, what the fuck happened? You almost had it. You only had one more to go. What the Hell made you laugh?'

"The second man snickered, jovial tears flowing from his eyes. 'I saw the third guy coming with pineapples and watermelons.'

"…Normally a joke like this is supposed to be funny. But nothing is funny anymore, is it, Stephen?"

No, it's not. Though that could be because I've been subjected to what feels like a fucking eternity of non-stop showings of realities where I lived. Forty-Two—don't ask, that's just what he calls himself—

"It's my designation!"

—I think he's been getting off on all of this. He thinks this is funny. I feel like such a damn idiot.

"That's because you are."

Never mind the fact that he's omniscient and can read my fucking mind. He probably knows the future. Scratch that, this asshole knows everything: all that has been, all that is, all that will be. He knew that a gazillion "me's" across countless universes were going to die, and he up and just let it happen.

"Do you have any idea how boring it would have been to go to each and every one of those realities and save your worthless life over and over again?"

If that weren't bad enough, there's also the little tidbit that he's me. Well, not me, exactly. He's another "me" that the Uni—

"—Continuum."

…

"I'm just saying. All of the Universes (including yours) are part of the Continuum."

…Fucking whatever. I'm just going to call it the fucking Janitor's Closet to piss him off. So, where was I? Oh, right. He's apparently one of the few "me's" that the Janitor's Closet in its ever abundant and equivocal wisdom decided to turn into a trans-dimensional omniscient being. Don't ask. I have no idea why. But what little time I've spent with this asshole has made me start hating myself as much as I did in high school.

"Hey! I never had to bother rescuing you from non-existence, did I? Lest you forget that your reality doesn't have an afterlife. The only higher plane of existence for you is me, and I can very well change my mind about that at any moment I so choose."

As you've "reminded" me about a thousand times now. Still hasn't happened, you sphincter douche.

"Would you, perhaps, mind saying that again? Maybe to my face this time? Aloud?" His tone was casual as can be, but there was no way to miss the threat he hardly deigned to veil.

 _Do you remember when Dad told you that your main issue is that sometimes you don't know when enough is enough?_

Yeah.

 _Well this is one of those times._

"Awesome."

"I figured that would do it," Forty-Two said smugly.

I'm tempted to ask him what exactly he might be referring to and then realize that, without even fucking meaning to, I just did.

"I projected your instincts—y'know, those little feelings you were too stupid to pay any mind to just before that postdoc eviscerated you—right into your head." As he says the last word, he pokes me rather hard in the forehead. Probably to accentuate his point. Or annoy me. Or both.

I take a deep breath. _Inhale… Exhale… Inhale…_

Don't let it get to you… Don't let him get to y—Wait.

 _Wait just a second._

"He was a postdoc?" A graduate with a doctorate killed me?

"Yeah."

Why the fuck?

He grins. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Aaaaargh!" If you do not get out of my head right now, I swear…

"Swear what? I mean, really?" He scoffed. "Do you have any idea how many beings, let alone other 'you's' have made the same exact threat you were about to make?"

"Actually," I said as I gave him the most self-assured smirk I could manage. "That did cross my mind. That's why I'm not even going to bother threatening you. I think we're both above such petty remarks, wouldn't you agree?"

He looks at me for a moment, his face blank and utterly unreadable until he suddenly broke out into a fit of maniacal laughter. "I see what you did there. That was well played. Assuming the moral high ground there."

Why, thank you. I kind of thought so myself, you pretentious pr—

"Or at least it might have been," he said, his expression suddenly becoming serious. "If I actually cared the slightest bit about moral righteousness. When I threatened you earlier I meant it. I could end you right this instant. All it would take is a thought. One, single, iddy biddy thought and you're just a memory…"

He looked up wistfully, that same sinister grin coming to his face again. "And contrary to what you might believe, memories do not last forever. You were, what? Nineteen years old when you died?"

I nodded slowly, not liking where this was going.

"And what had you accomplished in all of that time? You were estranged from half your family. You barely had any friends. You hadn't done anything remarkable. I mean, there was that one idea you had in freshman year of high school about using capacitive sensor membranes to capture physical sensation in neuroprosthetics, but did you do anything with that idea?"

No, I didn't. I just jotted it down like all the rest. It wasn't like I actually had the resources—

"Enough with the excuses, Stephen. You _could_ have. In many realities, you did. But _you_ didn't and because of that, people in need in _your_ reality had to suffer for another four years—living with the phantom pain of amputated limbs. Do you have any idea what that does to a person? That constant reminder that they aren't… whole? Can you even imagine what that must feel like?"

No… I— I—

His hand latched onto the underside of my chin, his fingers constricting painfully around my jawbone. "You can't. How could you? You had most of everything that a person could possibly want and you took it all for granted. That's all that people are going to remember you for, Stephen:

"An utter waste of human life.

"You see? It doesn't matter that you saved your fellow students. It doesn't matter how much your family loved you. Because memory fades with time. Eventually, all of those people will die, and then there'll be no one left to carry on your memory.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that the simple truth is this: you don't matter. You never have. You're nothing, Stephen. You could have been something, but you were too much of a loser to make something of your life."

He released me and I fell to my knees with a whimper. For a while, all I could do was cry, knowing that all of those things he'd said about me were right. As much as I might deny them or make excuses, he was absolutely right.

I'm weak. I'm nothing.

I'm a shadow of a soul.

I mean, how could he be wrong about me when he is me?

 _Wait._

Forty-two facepalmed. "Not this again," he groaned.

You know, that's really starting to get on my nerves, Forty-Two. I don't read your mind.

"That's because you can't."

I don't "anticipate" every single argument that you're about to make.

"But you would if you could."

Would I? I wonder… How do I even know if you are who you say you are?

He chuckled. It was mirthless sound.

"You're kidding, right?"

No, I'm not. You're immortal. You can go from universe to universe willy-nilly. You can read minds like a teleprompter. I'd say you've established those points excruciatingly well, wouldn't you?

"Yeah. Wouldn't you?" he mocked.

That's the thing. I don't know. Who's to say what immortality does to a human being?

"I am."

Oh? Then tell me, what has immortality done to me?

"You don't want to know."

Really, you're going with that cliché?

"It's a cliché for a reason. There are some things that certain people are truly better off not knowing."

'It's for your own good,' I intoned mockingly. When has that ever actually been the case?

"This time."

Really?

"Yes. I…" He seemed to legitimately hesitate. "I can't lie to you."

You can't lie to me?

"No, I can't. It's a part of my Mantle."

Wow, that sounds like some Dresden-verse kind of stuff. Next you're going to tell me you're actually part fae.

"I'm not part fae."

Okay, now say you're going to keep reading my mind.

He gave me an amused look. "Yes."

Well, it was worth a shot.

He laughed. "You know, this conversation has actually been somewhat… scintillating."

Yeah, and I'm still not entirely convinced that this isn't some _Singular Points_ bullshit. I mean, sure. You look like me—give or take a decade or so—and you seem to be intrinsically familiar with me. But how do I know that you are "me" when you could accomplish both of those things simply as a being of immense power?

He sighed then muttered, "I'm getting really tired of answering that question."

I cannot even begin to tell you how few fucks I give about that. Answer the question.

"You would hold no interest to me if you weren't a 'me.'" He began monotonously, sparing no effort whatsoever to hide how rehearsed his coming speech was. "Immortal beings don't just poach random people of potential throughout the Continuum like Dr. Who or Q because, quite frankly, we have much better things to do.

"But different versions of ourselves interest us. We see the differences and similarities, and find ourselves utterly intrigued with how exactly that came to be.

"How is there this person that is me, and yet, isn't?

"The obvious answer there: possibility—the only truly infinite quantity there is. It's the only thing out there that can actually amuse an immortal being because contrary to your belief Stephen, I haven't witnessed everything. Don't get me wrong. I could if I wanted to. I could flip one mental switch and—poof!

"I've seen, heard, felt, and… tasted everything.

"But where would be the fun in that? Being an immortal is already boring enough, even with all the power I have. Why would I give up the last small comfort left over from my humanity that I have?

"Tell me: would you, if you were constantly faced with the same dilemma as I, choose ultimate knowledge and power over the last remaining fragments of your human identity?"

I took some time to really consider the question. Knowledge and power… For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted them. It frightens me what I might have done or given up to attain ultimate knowledge while I was still alive. If I were still alive, I imagine I would have deluded myself into believing that I was forsaking my own humanity for the lives of others, when it would have really been just to sate my innately selfish desires.

Being dead, that all seems to matter so much less. What's the point in knowing everything when you can do nothing with that knowledge? What power do you have when you're unable to influence anything due to your state of being?

Does anything even matter anymore?

I'm dead. I'm no longer a part of the world I was born to and life still goes on. Sure, my family and friends will mourn my passing and will have to live with the pain of knowing that they will never see me or hear my voice again or...

But my family is strong and I never befriended any pansies that couldn't face the realities of life on their own. In spite of what happened, everyone in my life is going to be fine and I'm okay with that.

"Does that mean your answer is no?" Forty-Two asked after a while.

"No," I told him with a whisper. "The answer is yes. If I were you Forty-Two, I would have renounced my humanity a long time ago. It's a sacrifice I think I would have been able to live with for an eternity (if necessary), so long as it allowed me the opportunity to use that power to make an overall positive impact throughout the Continuum.

"So, why haven't you?"

He looked at me with something that looked like equal parts disgust and anger. "You have no idea what the price is for such power! No idea!"

"I don't know about you, Forty-Two. But that sounds like an excuse to me."

"An excuse!? You're telling me that I should give up the last good thing that I have... For power!?"

I smiled back at him casually. "Well, yeah."

"You… You…" He looked down and shook his head. "Heh. You're messing with me, aren't you?"

"No. I'm not, actually."

"I'm telling you that you have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, I think I do."

He scratched at some of the five o'clock stubble on his cheek. "Fine. I can see there's no sense arguing with you. So, let's put this to the test."

"A test? Don't tell me you have SCANTRONs here in this little pocket dimension of yours."

"Not a multiple choice test, you idiot."

"Oooh, then what?" I asked.

"Another shot at life."

"Really? Just like that? You're offering me a do-over?"

He grinned. "Not a do-over. No, this is an experiment for the both of us. I'm going to send you somewhere, but first I'm going to take everything that you hold dear to yourself."

"Well, that seems rather counterintuitive, doesn't it?" I questioned him. "You take all of these things from me and I won't be me, will I?"

He sighed. "You're right. I should let you choose what you are comfortable with giving up. That's fair, right?"

"Yeah, that seems fair," I replied with growing unease.

"What's wrong now? Don't tell me you're just now realizing how much of a hypocrite you are."

"It's not that. It's just… I once felt that 'To change myself I'd rather die.' You know, like that old Disturbed song?"

"Well, you're not so alive now," he said matter-of-factly.

I thought really hard about kicking him in the nuts and allowed myself to imagine a fantasy where I actually succeeded in doing so.

"Yeah," I exhaled. "I know."

A contemplative silence fell upon the conversation as Forty-Two receded into thought. The only sound was that of my own breath. There wasn't anything else. Not even the sound of my own heart beating. I place my left hand over it and I can't feel it there. There's just this… stillness. I don't know how else to describe it.

He snapped his fingers. "I got it! We'll set up a trade. You can give up parts of yourself, in return for physical and mental attributes..." He trailed off, muttering something unintelligible to himself.

"Oh, yes!" he exclaimed. "It's perfect! We'll use S.P.E.C.I.A.L.!"

"The Fallout spec'ing system?" I ask him. Figures he would fucking pick that knowing that I died only a few weeks before Fallout 4's release.

 _Fucking asshole._

"Yes. Isn't it perfect?"

He didn't wait for me to answer, he just kept on going.

"Now let's see… What makes you S.P.E.C.I.A.L., Stephen?"

He projected it in front of me with a hologram akin to the green on neon green display you'd expect to see on the Fallout 3 Pip-Boy 3000 along with the holographic scanlines that reminded me of the RIGLINK interface from Dead Space. I was actually a little surprised by the results.

 **STEPHEN**

 **STR | 4**

 **PER | 5**

 **END | 2**

 **CHR | 4**

 **INT | 8**

 **AGI | 6**

 **LUCK | 3**

 **(32 Total)**

"INT 8, huh?" I asked, feeling rather proud of myself for some reason.

"Enough to make a difference if you really set your mind on something." He told me.

"What about the Perception stat? Does that factor in when I'm wearing glasses?"

"The stat here is when you don't have them on. With them you've got a Perception rating of 7. But given that you naturally have terrible eye vision, 5 is your stat."

I nodded in agreement. "Okay, that makes sense. What about Agility 6? I would have thought it would have been a 4 or something."

"You can thank your father for that. Bicycling's good for longevity, and though you might not have realized this, when you really pushed yourself you were actually pretty fast. Not fastest man alive fast. But fast enough that you really shouldn't have been so terrible at track."

"Then if I possess such 'longevity' as you say, then why is it that I only have an Endurance rating of 2?"

"Your pathetic pain tolerance."

"That's fair," I said quickly. "What about Luck?"

"The Luck stat is vastly independent of the others. It's a rating of how the Universe treats you in general. A Luck stat of 3 isn't really bad or good. It's what most people have."

"Okay."

"Good. You ready to get started now?"

"In a moment. All this has made me curious about something. Do you think you could show me what makes Isaac Clarke S.P.E.C.I.A.L.?"

"Man, you are such a fanboy."

"I'm not." I could tell from the look on his face that there was no way he was buying that. I wasn't sure I was either. Even so, I attempted to justify myself. "Seriously. He _is_ one of my favorite characters in fiction. He's got an indomitable will, he's got a creative genius, and above all, he understands what needs to be done to right what is wrong. The man's a hero. What's not to like?

"But that's not what sets really him apart from other characters in my mind. I find I can relate to him. We're actually kind of alike."

"Oh, so you've been fighting the Necromorph scourge for the last few years of your life too? Is that it?"

"Don't be ridiculous. What I mean is that we share a few key similarities."

"I knew that. I just wanted you to realize how dumb it is that you think you're in any way on the same level as Isaac Clarke."

"I don't think—"

"Stop. This is so sad. I'll just… do it. Alright? No more."

Fine.

 **Isaac Clarke**

 **STR | 8**

 **PER | 8**

 **END | 7**

 **CHR | 7**

 **INT | 8**

 **AGI | 4**

 **LUCK | 2**

 **(44 Total)**

"44 total." I commented. "Isn't that more than the standard Vault Dweller?"

"Some people are more S.P.E.C.I.A.L. than others," he said smugly.

"Dude… Fuck you."

"Hey! You wanted to see his stats. There you go. You've seen them. Now can we move on?"

"Yeah, okay. Let's just… do this."

"Now, that's the spirit!"

The projection reverted back to my S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats. This time with arrows next to each of the numbered attributes, except Luck. My name was also completely absent.

"Go ahead and re-spec with what points you have."

"We going to do any perks after this?" I asked, setting each of the stats down to zero to see what I had to work with. 23 points with each of the stats other than Luck set to 1.

"Absolutely not. The only perk you've got is the one you were born with, Four-eyes."

I chose to ignore his jab and looked at the stats and realized suddenly that I had no idea what I was spec'ing myself for. "Where are you going to send me exactly?"

"The Mass Effect universe."

"No. Fuck you. Pick somewhere else. A game with a 'T' rating maybe? Perhaps a game that wasn't rushed into mediocrity by some greedy, sadistic publisher."

"No. You're going to the Mass Effect universe or I'm dropping you off in the asylum from _Outlast_ just the way you are now."

 _Fuck no_. I couldn't even make it through the first hour and a half of that game, and I made it all the way through _PT_. I can't even fathom how fucking awful being there in the flesh would be.

"Good. I'm glad you and I see eye to eye on this."

Not like I have much choice, but _whateve_ r.

"So, what's the scenario?" I ask him.

"You start out three years before the Battle for the Citadel. About twenty years old or so. You have no pre-knowledge of the universe. You have no idea what is to come. You do not know anything about the role Commander Shepard plays in the times to come."

"No. I can't work with that. That's not enough time to do anything. And without the knowledge? I struggle to see how I could even bring myself to start doing anything productive without that."

"And here is where the trade comes in," he said.

"First things first: I need that knowledge."

"No you don't and I'm not going to give it to you. Let's say it's the price you're paying for this next life and I don't do refunds or buybacks"

"That's not fair."

"Do I look like I care?

I know you don't, but couldn't you allow me just this one thing?

"No. Why would I allow you something that would allow you to rely on something other than yourself to accomplish what you have to do? I'm not saying it would have been easy for you to save the Galaxy from the Reapers if I let you keep all that you know now. But that's not how things work, is it Stephen? There is no all-knowing figure in the real world who knows exactly where and when to influence things in order to ensure a certain outcome.

"No. There're just people. Trying to do what they can with what they have. Why would you ever want to be anything less than that?"

Okay, I see your point. It's like how I hate it when there's some prophesy or character with a destiny. There's no such thing as fate being on your side in the real world, and having such knowledge would only shit on the gallant efforts of people who didn't have anything to use as a crutch, who in spite of seemingly impossible odds, still managed to do all it took to overcome.

"Exactly. Although the actual reason for why I'm placing this limitation on you is because it'll make it that much more entertaining and interesting to watch."

I figured.

"So, what'll it be, Stephen?"

I thought long and hard about what I would need. The most critical of all things was time. The more time I had to prepare, the better. Though, it's doubtful that I'd be preparing for anything without that foreknowledge in the first place.

Hmmm… I'm not generally one to gamble, but maybe I can be smart enough to figure it out on my own. It's the only chance I really have, isn't it?

"I'd say so."

I shot Intelligence all the way up to 10. I may not have the knowledge, but having top-level genius intellect could lead me to figure out much of those facts on my own.

That left me with 14 points, which now as I look at all the 1's remaining on my S.P.E.C.I.A.L. chart, makes me realize how little that is. I was going to need more, but for now I would see what I could do with what I had available.

I committed 7 points to Perception, bringing the stat to 8. Being aware and able to see well would be important. A high Perception coupled with max Intelligence would help me notice things before others.

7 points left.

"Do you want me to take away your near-sightedness?" Forty-Two offered.

"I know you Forty-Two, you're not just offering to do that. You're going to take something if I consent to that."

"I won't. It seems like such a foolish thing to have if you think Perception is so important."

"But don't they have a fix for poor vision in the Mass Effect universe?" I asked.

"They do."

"Then we're going to do a trade here. You're not going to fix my vision, that'll just happen as part of some gene therapy or something. Instead, you're going to give me another two points in Perception."

He grunted. "Very well."

Okay, this isn't too bad. 7 points left and Perception and Intelligence are maxed out, more or less. I decided to leave them alone, at least until I was sure how they could be best used to help me.

"I need more time." I told him. "Ten years at least."

"Okay. How about you give up all of your childhood memories."

Woah. I can't just give that up. That's a critical part of who I am.

"So? You're dead, Stephen. You've lived your life. It's time for someone else to take the reins now."

I dug my thumbnail into the side of my pointer finger. There was no pain. No feeling whatsoever. _You're dead, Stephen_. I tell myself for the billionth time in this existence. There's nothing left for you here or anywhere.

Is there?

"Fine." I relented. "Take them. But there's one condition. I keep them until the exact moment you send me there. Same goes for any other deal of that nature we make from this point on."

"Done and… done."

Ten years. But at what cost? The _Lunchables_ incident? That time when my brothers and I went round and round that tire swing so much we all nearly threw up in grandpa's car?

Hoochie. My first dog.

Ziggy. My second.

Every single pep-talk my dad gave me along the way?

Suddenly just being dead and leaving it at that doesn't seem so bad.

"But there's no turning back now, is there?" I ask him.

"I think it goes without saying that where I'm sending you is not some game. There are real people with real lives on the line."

"I know. I know."

They're the ones I'm making this sacrifice for. Because you were right—I was nothing. I never measured up to anything.

But I can be something for these people.

"I _will_ be something for these people."

"Good. I'm glad that you understand at least that." He told me. "So, what next?"

I have my time. Even still, I need more to work with. Leaving Strength, Endurance, and Charisma at 1 would be beyond stupid.

"What about Agility?" he asked.

I looked back at what made this new person S.P.E.C.I.A.L. and committed the rest of my points into Agility, bringing the stat to 8.

"That's interesting. I would have thought that you would have distributed the rest of them as evenly as you could throughout the rest of the attributes."

I'm not going to need Strength too much. I'm not a frontlines fighter. I've also managed living with an exceedingly low degree of Endurance in my past life.

"What about Charisma?"

That I will need.

"Time to trade."

"Time to trade," I echoed back.

But trade what? For what? I don't know about you, but I have no idea what the going rate for a spec point is.

"I'll tell you what: I'll restore you your Strength, Endurance, and Charisma to their previous level, if you give up your memories of your family and friends."

I wonder if he considered that to be a generous offer. 7 spec points for the memory of everyone I once held dear. It didn't seem that fair. I would have expected at least...

I stopped myself from completing that thought, absolutely sickened by the mere notion of even considering the notion of assigning a finite value to such memories.

But they have to go one way or another, don't they? How could this new person be themselves if they remembered the friends and family they once had in a whole other lifetime?

"7 is no good. Not by itself," I told him at last.

"Oh, then tell me: what exactly would be good enough?"

"An innate understanding of all the physically possible technologies from the Dead Space universe."

"You just won't let this go, will you?" he asked, sounding exasperated.

"This has nothing to do with my fixation on Isaac Clarke. You proposed a trade, and the _only_ thing I could think of that would come the slightest bit close to being fair here would be if you threw in that knowledge along with those S.P.E.C.I.A.L. points."

"Fine, but I'm not giving you stasis. Can't have you figuring out how to mess with time"

"That's actually possible?" I asked incredulously.

"Time manipulation? Yes. Stasis tech? Also yes." He answered then mumbled. "But you've got to tap into extradimensional matter in order for it to work."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. So, I take it since you didn't think Stasis tech was possible in the first place that you think this deal is acceptable?"

"Yes. It'll do."

With that, my Strength, Endurance, and Charisma returned to 4, 2, and 4 respectively. My S.P.E.C.I.A.L. total coming to 41…

 **New Person**

 **STR | 4**

 **PER | 10**

 **END | 2**

 **CHR | 4**

 **INT | 10**

 **AGI | 8**

 **LUCK | 2**

 **(40 Total)**

"It's 40!? My Luck went down. What the Hell?"

"Oh, I forgot to mention that," Forty-Two said casually, as if he'd just made a minor mishap. "The more S.P.E.C.I.A.L. you are, the more people tend to resent you. Ergo, the universe generally treats you that much worse as a result."

"Well, that's just fucking dandy." There was no mistaking it. The loss of a Luck point was no small matter. In the long term, it could easily prove fatal. I was tempted to give back however many points I might have to in order to get it back and then I remembered—

"Yeah," he interjected. "No refunds."

Fucking dammit.

I sighed. There was no sense in letting this drag me down. I had 40 points up there. Max Intelligence and Perception. A high Agility rating.

Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all.

If I move over a couple points from Strength, I can max out Agility. It's not like I'm going to have any need for Strength in the first place, right? No. Probably not.

I made the change and checked over the S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats again.

 **New Person**

 **STR | 2**

 **PER | 10**

 **END | 2**

 **CHR | 4**

 **INT | 10**

 **AGI | 10**

 **LUCK | 2**

 **(40 Total)**

"I think that's it," I told him.

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, at least that's done with," he said, dismissing the projection.

"I couldn't agree more."

"All that's left now if for you to give yourself a name. I take it you want your M.E. name to be Liam Sable?"

"No."

He seemed surprised.

"Weilly Reynolds?

I sighed. "No."

"Then what?"

I thought long and hard about what I would name a person like the one I had just designed. Someone who's a scientist-engineer like myself. Someone who doesn't believe in giving up, even when faced with a hopeless situation. Someone who thinks on their feet with a creative kind of intelligence.

With rotten luck.

I knew the name right then.

"Mark Watney." I told him.

"Heh. Okay, suit yourself." He reached his hand out to me. "Now, without further ado—"

I jumped out of the way of his hand, hoping that would stop him at least for a moment.

"Wait!"

"Wait?"

"I want something in return," I implored him. "When he succeeds. I want _One More Day_ to spend with my family and friends."

" _One More Day_?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Just _One More Day_?"

"It's not like you'd ever resurrect me."

"I suppose that's true," he said. "Very well. _If and only if_ he succeeds, I will give you one last day with your loved ones."

"Thank you."

He waved his hand back in my direction and just like that, I was overwritten.

Mark Watney was born as I thought my last thought:

 _That's all I could've ever hoped for..._

* * *

 **A/N: I could have posted this chapter weeks ago, but I was a little nervous about it. Part of why I'm writing this story is to see for myself how good a story I can actually write. I don't want there to be any plot holes that anyone short of a seasoned reader could pick up (if there actually are any). I don't want my characters to be transparent, and yet, I want each of you to get to exactly know who I am before I completely pervert that image of myself in the next chapter.**

 **What you have read here is deeply personal to me. I can only hope that you all understand how difficult it was for me to write this, let alone post it on an international database to be perused by so many people.**

 **Original Characters:**

 **I have only received two submissions thus far. So, the Salarian, second adult human, and nine of the children are still up for grabs. The same rules from the last chapter apply, with one slight change. Credit for characters will be formally awarded in the chapter itself (with your expressed permission, of course), since FanFiction seems to have gotten rid of its mass-message function (probably due to spam).**

 **I have only one further request: please don't turn my story into a sausage fest. I mean it. I want female characters. It doesn't have to be an even split of five and five, because seriously, fuck political correctness (and conformity in general).**

 **A little bit of diversity won't kill us.**

 **Also a little something about the children that I probably (definitely) should have mentioned in my last A/N; the children are the best and brightest young minds that humanity has to offer. But they are not all necessarily good people. They can be intelligent in scary ways. I leave that all up to you guys. But please, try to refrain from creating a youth squad of biotic gods.**

 **That just won't fly.**

 **References:**

 **The joke in the beginning is a joke from my late grandfather's joke book. I had Forty-Two tell it specifically in a matter that wouldn't really be funny because I naturally like telling stories and have a particular flair for the theatrical and I couldn't imagine a morally ambiguous immortal version of myself where either of these two things became any less pronounced. I also didn't have access to the original (there are about a million of them online, though).**

 **The Fae cannot lie in the Dresden-verse, but for what they have lost with that limitation, they make up for in their astounding talent for weaving all-too-convincing half-truths. Forty-Two's Mantle is not a reference to the power base of powerful beings in the Dresden-verse. It's simply a coincidence that I came up with in middle school.**

 ** _Singular Points_** **is a book by Travis Mohrman about a man named David who is approached by a powerful being who appears to him as an elderly version himself and warns him of an impending evil that threatens the existence of his universe. It's one of the many novels that inspired this story. I highly recommend it to anyone who likes sci-fi/fantasy reads (or has good taste in literature in general).**

 **'To change myself I'd rather die' is a part of the chorus for the Disturbed song "I'm Alive" from the album** ** _Ten Thousand Fists_** **, which is easily one of the best NuMetal albums of all time. I highly recommend it.**

 **I still haven't played** ** _Fallout 4._** **Love the other games, though. So much…**

 **Isaac Clarke is the main protagonist of the thriller-horror** ** _Dead Space_** **game series (for those of you that don't know that). RIGLINK is what the HOS (holographic operating system) in the** ** _DS_** **universe are called.**

 ** _PT_** **was an experiment by Konami, the makers of the** ** _Silent Hill_** **series. It was scary as Hell and a blast to play. (But fuck Konami. They trashed the latest** ** _SH_** **game for no good reason and took down** ** _PT_** **from most legitimate online stores.)**

 ** _Outlast_** **is the only game in the world that I am literally too fucking scared of to play. Those of you who have played it know what I'm talking about.**

 **Mark Watney is the main protagonist of Andy Weir's novel,** ** _The Martian_** **for which this story is named.**

 ** _One More Day_** **is an homage to the Amazing Spider-Man arc of the same name. In it, Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson-Parker were given one last day to be together before Mephisto erased their love, their marriage, and the child MJ had been carrying. It's one of the most heartbreaking stories I have ever read.**

 **Academ out.**

 **Edition 2 [[01/12/2016]] : Edits for awkward sentences, mechanics, tense, and noun-verb agreement issues.**


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